


Only a Taste

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Control Issues, Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As her marriage looms, Sansa and Petyr begin to test their boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Taste

 

It usually happened on nights like this, while the Gates of the Moon slept soundly about them. Her name was known, her marriage settled, but yet they waited here. Waited while forces were gathered, while her soon-to-be husband made his way across the war-torn countryside towards a bride he had not yet laid eyes upon.

And as the wedding night grew closer it grew harder and harder not to test the limits of their unspoken contract. Tensions ran high, and needed release.

That evening they supped alone, on what meager luxury the approaching winter would allow. The room was silent save for the cracking of logs on the fire and the small bits of conversation that floated up between them.

It was a comfortable stillness. They had grown used to each other over the years, had become adapt in saying plenty with few words. After all, one never knew who was listening. 

Once they were finished they left their plates to be cleared by the servants and exited the hall together. Sansa longed to wind her arm through his, to feel his body pressing close to hers. But they walked side by side with a careful distance between them. They both knew that were they to touch too much they would be risking a slip, a slip into something from which there would be no coming back.

It was with a pregnant silence that they made their way through the winding corridors. They were never stopped on these treks, and if they were they would simply say that Sansa had drunk too much wine, and had to be seen safely to her rooms. That was all. 

Not that anyone ever asked the Lord Protector of the Vale to explain himself. Not even when, as he did this night, he followed his ward inside her room and latched the door.

In the warm comfort of her chambers they regarded each other, and smiled.                                                              

The smile she wore was so like his own, cutting and sly. It spoke volumes, this shared grin. It spoke of ease and familiarity and a playful, quiet understanding. 

They could not have what they wanted, but that is not to say they could not _indulge_. 

Her eyes never leaving his, Sansa made quick work of her laces, slim fingers undoing her layers of clothing. As her smooth skin was revealed Petyr watched her closely, his lips slightly parted, as if he could still not quite believe what she allowed him to have. 

Soon she had stripped herself bare, and turned towards him, allowing him time to regard her nude form—her pebbled nipples, her flat stomach, the tuft of auburn at the juncture of her thighs. Grey-green eyes smoothed over every line and contour of her form. He seemed to be imprinting the sight of her to memory, even though he had seen it many times before. 

He never asked to join her, lying supine on the furs upon her bed. This evening, as always, he took his place in the chair beside her intricately carved bed, his hands at his sides, and watched.

She looked up at him, her lips a soft pout. Warming her skin by running her hands over her body, she began teasing her nipples lightly, relishing the way he licked his lips, already needy.

“Were you thinking about this earlier?” Her voice was low; she already knew the answer. She slid a warmed hand between her thighs, parting them slightly to give Petyr a clear view of her slick cunt, the smooth pink slit between her legs. Her fingers danced over its lips, teasing the bundle of nerves at her center, and a strangled moan sounded in her throat, the noise mixing with his low groan.

She watched him fist the soft fabric of his breeches, the outline of his cock already visible. She kept her eyes fixed on it as she ran the pads of her fingers up and down her lips, her other hand still teasing a breast, circling the nipple with precise movements. Petyr could watch but he could not touch, not her nor himself —at least until she was done. That was his payment for being allowed such a sight. 

Sansa thought sometimes that she should make certain of this and bind his hands, but Petyr had yet to break the rules.

She arched her back as she slowly entered herself with two slick fingers, and heard his throat rumble with pleasure. Lips parted, she began to fuck herself like that, keeping the constant pressure on her clitoris, the soft moans that left her lips seeming to fill the room. She watched him devour her, every inch of her, as if he did not know where to focus on the delectable feast laid before him. As if, even after all this time, she was still new, still something to be savored.

“Petyr...” His name was soft on her lips.

Sometimes she thought of how little stood in his way from taking what he wanted, taking _her_. Yet there was never any real fear of his transgressing. She knew that Petyr wanted her, but what he _needed_ was for her to want him. For her to give of herself willingly, even if it was only a taste.

And, as much pleasure as she got out of these evenings, Sansa would be lying if she said she did not _want_ him. She had grown quite skilled with her fingers, but it was Petyr’s hands that she longed to feel on her body, his lips on her skin. She could bring herself off with her thrusts, her hips rolling over the furs, but even though she had never known a man she knew it was nothing compared to a cock. She imagined his as she quickened her pace, fucking herself like a wanton. The stretch of it, the feel of it as he finally took her, completing this stage of the game and making her _his._

In time. For now, this exquisite tease must suffice.

Her eyes fluttered open just in time to catch his fingers caressing up and down the side of his cock, trying to give himself some small bit of relief. She began to extract her fingers with a warning look in her eye.

“ _Sansa_.” He spoke her name like a plea. _Come soon_ , his gaze seemed to say, as if she needed to be prompted.  She checked his hand, but it was still.

Despite her desire to punish him for overstepping the boundaries, Sansa couldn’t help but comply. Biting her lip, telling herself not to forget this lapse in the future, she returned to the task at hand. Eyes locked with his, she worked herself over until she could take no more—muscles contracting around her fingers, mouth pressed against the furs to muffle a strangled, inelegant cry.

Her body exhausted, she gazed at him through hooded eyes, watching as he indulged in his reward, as he presented himself to her. His own hands were quick on his laces, his fingers wrapping around his painfully engorged cock as soon as it was freed, its tip glistening with need. Sansa slid across the bed towards him, agile as a cat, the sweat on her skin catching the reddish light of the low fire.

Petyr’s gaze was on her, but her gaze was torn between his eyes, darkened with lust, and the smooth movement of his hand. She imagined it inside of her, the hard cock he was working over so quickly. All it took was one lick of her lips and he was gone, white seed spurting against the ivory of her skin. The feel of it, the look of it, drew a moan from deep within her chest. Her fingers moved to touch it, almost reverently. There was a beauty to be found in filth, she had come to see. 

He was still panting heavily, his skin flushed, when Sansa rose from the bed. She was soiled and stained but she still bore herself like a Queen. Her back was straight and her head high as she leaned in towards him.

She brushed her lips against his, almost chastely, and only once. As though it were a holy ritual.

Perhaps it is. It’s the only time they allow themselves to touch.

 

 


End file.
